Behind the Greenhouses
by xiaogui
Summary: One-Shot: "Certainly, Snape thought, these whole matters had been a question between the ever-rivalling houses of Slytherin and Gryffindor. A struggle between powers, both too ambitious to comply – in the end, it was all politics"; Features Madam SPROUT


**Author**: XiaoGui

**Title**: Behind the Greenhouses

**Category**: General/ (a little) Angst

**Rating**: G

**Summary**: Another well-worn, slightly angsty Snape gap-filling one-shot, but this one is rather pensive and features a quite unusual co-participant: Prof Sprout; set end of GoF.

In the end it's just a little musing about war and politics, and the human beings caught therein. My rather ambivalent approach is intended – after all, we all know the background anyway.

**Thanks to**: _Ermione_ for a crucial idea on this and _lucidity_ for betaing my mistakes :)...

* * *

-

**Behind the Greenhouses**

-

"_If you are ready… if you are prepared…"_

These words out of the Headmaster's mouth still rang in his ears. Moving soundlessly and without saying another word he had swept out of the infirmary and down to his chambers, only to find none of the desired peace of mind there.

Restlessly, he had finally left the castle and gone to seek his little refuge down here, hidden right behind the greenhouses, and known of by few. Back in his school days it had been, he already found out about this place with its weathered stone bench and the incredible view of the lake, and even now he sometimes used to come here to seek privacy and tranquillity, when he needed to calm a restless mind.

So he is back, Snape thought, _finally_… Absentmindedly scratching his left forearm he drew a bitter sigh. As if he would not have known, the signs throughout the year had been obvious enough. Igor had fled, the idiot. A hollow sound of laughter escaped his lips. As though there would be any chance in flight – the Dark Lord and his loyal followers would find out eventually anyway. The only options left would be death or _adjustment_.

"_If you are prepared…" _

Certainly he was – after all he was a reasonable man and no dreamer. The Dark Lord had never vanished completely from this world, the Mark had told him that every day of his life. And it had just been a matter of time before he would gain the power to rise again; Snape always had been certain about it. However…

"_If you are ready… if you are prepared…" _

He was prepared, true, had been for fourteen years, expecting this very moment. But was he ready? Who could ever be ready to face this?

Thoughtfully he pulled up the sleeve of his robe. He certainly knew how it looked, yet he needed to see it anyway. Gingerly, his fingertips touched the _dirty _spot on ivory-coloured skin…

"Severus?"

Had he not have trained himself to develop an iron-like self-control, he would have jumped out of his skin on the spot. Scowling deeply, he slowly turned around, facing the good-natured face of the Hogwarts herb-witch.

"Pomona…" he greeted the elderly Hufflepuff Head of House with a frown that should have told her about this unwelcome intrusion on his privacy. Obviously this witch after all this years of knowing him still was not used to those subtle hints emanating from his facial features, since she drew closer and eyed him with a little smile on her face.

"In your little hiding-spot again, aren't you, Severus?"

Snape let out a low growl, hoping Sprout would catch the broad hint and just leave him be. How she came to know about this little personal sanctuary of his here was beyond him. Then again, the greenhouses seemed to be her second home, so it was no wonder that she happened to know what was going on out back. As he looked up to her again, he noticed her face frozen, mouth agape and eyes locked to a spot on his …forearm. Quickly he pulled down the sleeve of his robe, cursing inwardly.

"I know he's back," Madam Sprout muttered, her facial expression aghast, "Albus told me, but I didn't believe it. I couldn't…" She shook her head in horror. "It just …couldn't be …after all these years."

"Well… It can. And he is back," Snape commented, slightly annoyed.

The Hufflepuff shook her head. "I didn't believe it until I saw the body of Cedric," she muttered dully, head downcast.

Snape narrowed his eyes at the irony of the situation. Now there he was, the ex-Death Eater, and he was seemingly supposed to comfort a teacher who had just lost a student by the hands of his former master. Thinking about his life's bane, he felt another throb searing through his arm, and almost unconsciously his right hand again gripped his left forearm.

Madam Sprout, however, stood there, gazing at him enigmatically. Her normally cheerful features displayed an unreadable expression. "I wish to look at _it_," she said in a low voice, while her eyes fixed the Slytherin with unusual determination.

"It is a mere shadow now, just a reddened spot. You won't see much of it." Snape wanted her to go away. It was not supposed to be like this, this place was his sanctuary after all.

The Hufflepuff moved closer, her narrowed eyes reflecting resolution.

Reluctantly, Snape seized the sleeve of his robe and slowly pulled it up again, his eyes resting on his colleague. A slight breeze passed over his uncovered skin, making him feel exposed. He did not like this at all.

Madam Sprout's gaze shifted onto the Slytherin's bare arm, where the fading dark outlines of the Mark were visible, the surrounding sallow skin slightly reddened and inflamed. Her facial features hardened even more.

"So he is finally back," she repeated. "And everything will start all over again..."

_Go away, witch, I am not in the mood to talk about it…_

"Did you know that Hufflepuff suffered the greatest number of casualties during the war?" she continued, regardless of his frown. "It was because many Muggle-borns were being sorted into my house, I assumed. The murder of Cedric just seems to be a logical continuation of the occurrences back then."

The usually jovial witch was gone entirely, replaced by a sad, sober-looking woman. And was this impeachment he read in her eyes? The Potions Master flinched slightly, yet persisted to glare at her.

"And did you know that my own brother was…" She cut off, swallowing hard. "…was murdered?"

Now the frown vanished like a falling mask, deliberately making place for a somewhat guilty expression. Snape certainly hadn't been _ready_ for this either.

"No, I had not been aware of that," he answered, starting to feel anxiousness creeping up on his intestines. There definitely was accusation readable from Sprout's eyes.

"It happened very early in the war, while _his_ power was still on the rise," she said. "However, I don't blame you, Severus."

Snape did not have to be a Legilimens to discover the dishonesty in her declaration. It was written all over her face.

"Do not deceive yourself," he said softly, suppressing an inappropriate sneer. "Needless to say, you do."

Perhaps this little encounter here was not that inexpedient after all. This conversation seemingly had long been overdue. Surprised by himself, Snape found himself shifting a little to the side, allowing the Hufflepuff to sit. Reluctantly, his colleague lowered herself to the bench.

Snape drew down his sleeve, covering the Mark again, as if wanting to close an unfortunate chapter of his life. From the corner of his eye he glanced at Madam Sprout, who sat beside him, head downcast.

"Paulin had been a young man back then, an Auror apprentice," she began, reminiscently, while looking on the grass before her feet. "He had been the only Auror in the family," she added.

"What happened?" Snape asked curtly.

"They were lured into a trap," the witch narrated, "by Death Eaters which obviously were after his chief of group. Paulin was killed instantly, before they carried on with torturing his leaders. At least he didn't have to suffer…" she trailed off, swallowing.

The Slytherin knew that any attempt of apology would be futile, so he remained silent. He had not been accompanying that particular _mission_, he knew, however that would not be any comfort for the reminiscing Hufflepuff. It had all been about misguided decisions and unfortunate politics, he regretted deeply. The Mark throbbed anew, as if in reminder, making him flinch and hiss involuntarily.

Madam Sprout turned her head towards him, smiling sadly. "I had never been much into those political issues," she said. "And neither had Paulin."

Certainly, Snape thought, these whole matters had been a question between the ever-rivalling houses of Slytherin and Gryffindor. And it still was, in the end. A struggle between powers, both too ambitious to comply – most regrettable that others had to suffer for that. In the end, it was all politics; one either chooses one side or the other – or was caught in the middle. He sighed deeply, unconsciously cradling his hurting arm.

"What are you going to do now, Severus?"

"What I have to do. What my side expects of me," he answered somewhat reluctantly.

"I see."

Snape pressed his lips together, as his arm kept throbbing. The next summons would come soon – eventually.

"I am sorry, Pomona," he said softly, as the ever-growing sensation of guilt overcame him at last.

The Hufflepuff looked at him, her features displaying sadness, yet the hint of an encouraging smile returned to her face. "Don't be, Severus. It's long ago, and I don't blame you now. It's politics after all."

The Potions Master remained silent. It was the past, indeed. Yet, it had returned to the very present now.

The elderly witch placed an arm around his shoulders and he allowed her to do so. "Now – let's get some dinner, shall we?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Snape rose, waiting for Madam Sprout to do so as well. Together they made their way back up to the castle, not wasting another word on the matter.

The summoning came eventually, late at night on that very day.

- End -

-

* * *

**Any kind of comment on my humble little story would be highly appreciated, certainly...:)**


End file.
